


Home Port

by thegirlwhoknits



Series: We Learned the Sea [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Steter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1664090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwhoknits/pseuds/thegirlwhoknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of domestic ficlets set in the "We Learned the Sea" 'verse. All stories take place post-Landing Party, unless otherwise noted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Port

One of Stiles’ favorite things was to crawl in bed with Peter after his husband was already asleep. It happened more often as Stiles got closer to finishing his Criminology degree; adding late-night study sessions to his Emissary training and research for the Pack.

Their bedroom was dark and cave-like, decorated in browns and mossy greens that Stiles had teased Peter about when they were decorating.  The bed was, of course, huge and sturdy. Stiles shivered, remembering all the good uses they’d put it to.  But right now Peter was sleeping soundly, his even breathing interrupted only by the occasional snuffling sounds that Stiles found so adorable.

Even to his human senses, the room smelled richly of Stiles-and-Peter; the weekly changing of the sheets was a ritual Stiles thoroughly enjoyed, because Peter always insisted on having sex on them immediately, so they would “smell right.”  He wasn’t particularly inclined to argue with that.

Stile loved the way Peter’s face relaxed when he slept. The werewolf’s demeanor had softened quite a bit since their formal mating, but sleep made him look even younger, almost innocent (Peter never looked really innocent, no matter how hard he tried). This Peter was all his, completely open and vulnerable, and Stiles couldn’t help but take a moment to drink in the sight, no matter how many times he saw it.

He stripped to his boxers and crawled under the covers, scooting his way across the vast expanse of the mattress to crowd into his mate’s space.  If Peter was on his right side, he would reach out instinctually in his sleep, pulling Stiles into the curve of his body and nuzzling into his shoulder.  If he was (more rarely) on his left side, Stiles would wrap his own arms around his mate’s waist and breath in the sleep, sleepy-heavy scent at the nape of Peter’s neck.  In that moment, Stiles felt utterly secure and loved.

As nice as it was, they never stayed that way for long. Stiles was a restless sleeper — another reason for the large bed — and would often find himself upside-down or sideways on the bed, sometimes even hanging off the edge. But no matter how much either of them moved, there was always a point of contact between them: feet touching, Peter’s hand on the small of Stiles’ back,  the human’s long fingers curled loosely over the pulse point of his mate’s wrist, resting gently on the scar there.

Even unconscious, they were always each other’s anchor.


End file.
